


The Ring's War

by Kookaburra42



Series: Redemption and Remaking [7]
Category: Middle-earth: Shadow of Mordor (Video Games), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Archery, Drinking, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, Isengard, M/M, Mordain Culture & Customs, Mordor, Near Death Experiences, Necromancy, Orc Culture, Platonic Relationships, Politics, Psychological Torture, Sauron Being an Asshole, Sauron is His Own Warning, Swordfighting, The One Ring - Freeform, The One Ring is Bad News, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29542305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kookaburra42/pseuds/Kookaburra42
Summary: The War of the Ring is beginning.  The One Ring has been found.  Mordor is destroying itself from the inside, and Isengard--well, Isengard was going to collapse the moment Saruman switched sides.  In this tale of war and the beginnings of redemption, no one comes out unscathed.
Relationships: Frodo Baggins & Gandalf | Mithrandir, Original Female Character(s) & Original Male Character(s), Ratbag the Coward/Talion, Sauron | Mairon & Thuringwethil, Sauron | Mairon/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Redemption and Remaking [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010949
Comments: 15
Kudos: 7





	1. The Nine Ride Once More

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, as promised! Hope you enjoy! No real warnings for this chapter, but please heed the tags--this is not as light-hearted as Ever On And On.

Thuringwethil could always tell when her father was nervous. She rested her hands on the hilt of her sword and sighed. When Sauron was nervous, bad things would come. 

“You alright?” Ren Jey, youngest and eighth ranked of the Nazgûl, dropped down to sit beside her. It must have looked silly--she was a foot taller than him, and he was the tallest of the Nazgûl. 

“Need a drink, but what else is new?” 

Ren laughed. “Not what I meant.” 

“Yeah, well.” She grinned at him, then sighed. “He’s nervous.” 

“That he is. All of us can feel it. Got Khamûl snippy, it has.” 

“Khamûl’s always snippy. Any other ill effects?” 

“It’s left all of us on edge a bit. Wondering what’s going on in his head.” 

“Don’t we all?” 

“Ask your ma. She knows, probably.” 

“I was going to anyway. Don’t you have something to do?” 

“Nar. I--” 

“REN!” Khamûl, second and most vicious of the Nine, sounded positively enraged. 

“Oh, damn. I had better go and take care of that.” Ren waved and slipped off. Thuringwethil waved after him, then stood. 

She felt a growl bubble up in her throat and unleashed it, let the sound rumble out of her throat. A lesser woman would have winced at the sound, deep and harsh as it was, but Thuringwethil was an Umaia, a daughter of the Void. She felt no self-consciousness when it came to almost anything. 

Thuringwethil strapped her sword back to her hip and hurried off. Armies didn’t run themselves. 

The troops needed her. 

Mordor needed her.

Her family needed her. 

And she would provide.

* * *

Sauron’s eyes flashed and the dagger sheathed itself in the wall. “ENOUGH!” he roared. The two nobles (the lord and lady of the Marad house) flinched. 

“M-my lord, these filthy Orcs have been encroaching on our--” Lord Abrazimir tried. Unfortunately for him, Sauron was not in any sort of mood for this. 

“THEY ARE CITIZENS OF MORDOR AND YOU WILL SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH OR I WILL SHUT IT FOR YOU!” 

“I--” The noble who had spoken opened his mouth, then shut it with a scowl. 

“And why, may I ask, have you come to me for this foolish reason?” 

Abrazimir’s wife, Gimilinzil, looked positively furious. “They are  _ Orcs,  _ my lord!” she huffed. 

“And? Shall I give them your territory and shove you out?” 

Both the Lord and Lady Marad winced. “No--no, my lord,” Zeimeil stammered. “Of course not. We will--we will let them in.” 

“Good. Get out.” 

The two of them fled. Sauron sighed. “This is getting out of hand.” 

The Marad house was…odd. 

By Mordor’s standards, anyway. Their women, for instance, were not warriors or diplomats, but seemed only to exist for the purpose of reproducing and securing political ties. For another thing, their clothes were overly complicated and impractical. And for a third, they had an almost entirely human population. Their only saving grace was their resources. 

Sauron sighed again. That fact alone made it impossible to get rid of them. At least the heirs showed some potential; Thuringwethil had reported that both son and daughter were proficient with weapons--swordplay and archery, respectively. 

He strode to the wall and yanked the dagger out of it. Then, with a sigh, he ordered the stone to seal. A waste of power, but he couldn’t let the fortress collapse. 

“Hey, Da.” Thuringwethil. Only she would call him that, and it was said in Angbandian. 

“What is it?” he replied in the same tongue. 

“What’s got you fired up?” 

“Excuse me?” 

“Oh, come on. Everyone can tell. And it’s not just those power-hungry fools bothering you.” 

“The Ring. I have a lead.” 

“Then why are you so nervous--” 

“The issue is, they are a people protected by Olórin.” 

“…well, fuck.” 

“There is hope, fortunately. He will likely look to Curumo for advice…” 

“And Curumo has defected. Perfect.” 

“Then we send the Nine.” 

“All of them?” 

“Yes. This is urgent.” 

“I know that, but that’s a bit…well,  _ conspicuous.  _ They don’t blend in; royal habits and all.” 

“We disguise them, then. Stick them in cloaks.” 

“Da, that’s both brilliant and really damn stupid. They’re all going to complain. Cloaks have a tendency to restrict motion in battle,” Thuringwethil said. 

“And will they be fighting trained warriors?” 

“No.” 

“Exactly.” The two of them shared a grin, then Thuringwethil frowned. 

“You told Ma about this issue already, didn’t you?” 

“I tell her everything. This is no exception.” 

“I’d ask why, but I already know.” Sauron rolled his eyes. 

“Don’t you have something better to do than bug me?” 

“Is paperwork more important?” 

“Depends.” 

“Alright, so in this case it is, fine.” 

“Then go get that done. I have a country to run. Goodbye.” 

“And I have an army to deal with. See you.” 

* * *

“WE HAVE TO  _ WHAT?”  _ __  
  


As expected, the outrage was somewhat over the top. Mûrazor, the Witch-King, winced. “Those are our orders,” he said quietly. 

“Witchy, I don’t know _why_ or _how,_ but--” Ren was cut off by Khamûl, the Witch-King’s second, swearing aggressively and punching a wall. His sentiments were evidently shared, as the complaining went on for another hour. 

After that, though, they got to work. Preparations were made swiftly for a long journey, and even though most were still skeptical of the effectiveness of  _ cloaks,  _ of all things, these preparations went smoothly. Within a week they were ready to depart. 

Sauron’s orders were specific--a name, a location, and a set of directions. They had all been sent, rather than the usual two or three. The cloaks would disguise them effectively and they would not have to fight as often as was normal. 

Thuringwethil wasn’t all that worried. The mission had a high likelihood of success, after all. A simple ‘grab and go’, so to speak. 

Her mother was not so optimistic. Yóriel’s eyes narrowed against the wind as she watched the Nine gallop off. “This is either about to go very well or very badly,” she muttered. 

“So long as  _ that horse _ doesn’t attempt to eat Ren again, I think we shall be fine,” Sauron replied.

“Really?” 

“I can only hope…”


	2. Mission Assignments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We meet the cast of a previous journey once more. Two new people are introduced, and Gandalf begins a fraught journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, please read Ever On And On! This will give you more context into the characters introduced here and their personalities and backgrounds. No real warnings for this chapter.

“Oh, bloody--dammit.” Talion hit his head on the wall, scowled, and dropped to sit on the floor. 

Ruby Took, a 43 year old Hobbit who had left the Shire seven years ago for adventure’s sake, shook her head. “Are you done yet?” 

“No--not yet, hang on. Oh, there it is.” Talion held up the book he had been searching for. 

“What is it?” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t know what it’s about, because I can’t read Angbandian and I don’t know who wrote this. I’m sending it to the Dark Lord--he can probably tell.” 

“Doesn’t he have more important things to do?” 

“Yes. But the preservation of his people’s culture is important enough to warrant attention. Besides, even with a war on the horizon, he’s got to have some kind of hobby.” 

“Yes, I suppose he does. By the way, where’s Mul?” 

“I think he might be sparring with Berenil.” 

“I’ll go check. I hope nothing went wrong.” She bit her lip. Berenil (an Elf from Lothlórien), it had become evident, had a way of attracting trouble, and not always on purpose. She loved her friend dearly, but sometimes things got out of hand. 

Fortunately, Mul, an Uruk and Ruby’s best friend, had ten years of being short (by Isengard’s standards, not anyone else’s) in Isengard, which taught him how to avoid attention. 

In a way, they cancelled each other out. 

Ruby hurried off, waving absentmindedly at Pelinelon, Berenil’s elder brother, as she passed him. She made her way to the sparring ring--

And heaved a sigh. Their weapons were discarded and both were rolling around on the floor and bitterly arguing. Eventually, through sheer size, Mul got the upper hand and they stopped. 

“Are you two quite finished?” Ruby snapped. 

“Yeah.” Mul cast one final glare at Berenil before sheathing his knives. 

“Good. I need you for something, Mul--oh, and Berenil, Talion is doing some digging through Umaia history and I thought that might interest you. It certainly interested me.” 

“I will go look at that. I assume Pelinelon is also on his way?” 

  
“I saw him heading in that direction, yes.” Berenil nodded, and, slinging her spear over one shoulder, strode off. 

“What d’you need me for?” Mul asked. 

“Well, um…you’ll see.” 

He grinned, reached out, and ruffled her hair. She huffed and swatted him playfully. This was a familiar exchange between them, just as easy as breathing. “Alright, then. Let’s go.” 

She led him through the main fortress, and by the time they reached the courtyard, he seemed very confused. “Uh, Ruby? Where the fuck’re you takin’ me?” 

“You’ll see!” She started walking faster. 

Mul’s eyes widened suddenly. “What in the Void…” 

Standing in front of them were two people neither had seen in almost a decade. Namely, Ethelred, a Man of Rohan, and Angainë, an Umaia of the Sercemaica ruckus. Their ten-year-old daughter, Ruxahild, stood with them, already half-grown because of her Mannish heritage. Ruby, Mul, Berenil, and Pelinelon had travelled with them to Mordor all those years ago, and hadn’t seen them except once since. 

Angainë smiled and dashed forward. She and Mul grasped arms and thumped their foreheads together; a gesture Ruby had learned was the proper greeting for shield-siblings.    
  
Her eyes misted over.  _ Thank goodness these three could make it here!  _

“It’s nice to see you all again,” Angainë rumbled. 

“Likewise.” Ruxahild’s eyes widened and she darted forward. 

“Are you the people Ma and Da travelled with?” she asked. 

“Two of them, yes!” Ruby smiled up at the girl, already taking after her parents in height. “The other two are up in the library with Talion.” 

“Speaking of Talion,” Ethelred interjected, “we need to speak with him. We’re not only here to catch up; something dreadful has happened.” 

“What happened?” Mul asked, yellow eyes narrowed. 

“My elder brother has vanished, and we think Curumo--that is, Saruman--may have something to do with it.” 

* * *

Power was a curious thing in what it did to those who had it, Gandalf reflected. He stared out at the night sky with a sigh. It had been barely three days since Radagast had come to him and sent him in Saruman’s direction. 

He thought back to Dol Guldur--seeing Sauron again had evoked images of ancient, happier times, back to when Sauron had been Mairon and there had been some form of peace. 

He remembered Sauron’s sick desperation in their last meeting: a surge of protectiveness and viciousness that nearly overwhelmed the senses and was ultimately his downfall. 

There were reports that a force bearing the mark of a red bat with an eye above it had been spotted. This was the mark of the High General of Mordor, who was also Sauron’s daughter. And her return would likely mean war was coming. 

Gandalf gazed at the stars, forcing away more memories of Almaren as he did so. For once, he hoped the Valar were watching. Anything to help with this madness would be tolerated. 

He remounted his horse and urged it onwards. There would be time for contemplation later. For now, he had aid to seek. 

For now, people were depending on him. 

-

Ræn slipped the arrow back into her quiver and hissed in pain. She’d cut herself on the thumb.  _ Sloppy.  _ Sucking on the wound and shaking her hand to alleviate the irritation, she stalked towards the changing room. 

“Uh, Ræn,” she heard from behind her. “You’re trailin’ blood everywhere. Might wanna get that checked out.” Her partner in crime and wife, Fauthagon, pointed to it, worry etched into her face. 

“Fauth, I’ll be fine,” Ræn assured her. “‘s just a cut.” 

“Get a damn bandage afore I lose my mind lookin’ a’ that, at least,” Fauth said sternly, dark eyes narrowed. 

“Fine, fine. See ya in a mo’.” Ræn jogged the rest of the way to the changing room. She dug around in her bag and wrapped the bandage she found around her hand after soaking it with water. Quickly, she changed and left the room. 

“C’mon! We’ve gotta go,  _ now. _ Why I was here in the first place. He’s got a job for us.” 

Ræn grinned. “Good. ‘Bout time we got paid!” 

* * *

It quickly became evident to Fauth that her mate was not taking anything about this seriously. Even with Mordor on the verge of war, she kept her cool in an almost ridiculous way. She was confident to the point of cockiness, which was slightly irritating; but then, Fauth also had this trait. 

Nevertheless, when the Dark Lord wanted something, no one would dare crack a joke about it. Not even Ræn. After all, when you’ve seen someone sing a mountain into eruption, you don’t mess with them. (Besides, who would mess with  _ the  _ Dark Lord? No one with even half a brain, that’s who.)

Today was a mission of special importance, apparently. To Seregost to make sure the Dead One wasn’t plotting; he’d been too quiet, and the Dark Lord (and everyone else) doubted it was simply wedded bliss. The Dead One was a warrior, not a sap. Still, ten years had passed and nary a whisper except from the Umaiar. A cause for worry at the best of times. 

Now was not the best of times. 

Now was wartime, when patience stretched thin and suspicions grew to wild proportions. No one felt truly safe, sensing the restlessness of those in the military and feeling worry for the family they had who were part of it.

Fauth didn’t really have that to deal with. Her family was hundreds of miles north in Gundabad. The last time she’d seen them was when she’d had a job up there--a private commission because things were tight moneywise and the Dark Lord was feeling lenient. After all, who wouldn’t want to commission the best assassins in Mordor? 

(Maybe in the world, but that was probably a stretch.) 

Fauth forced her wandering attention back to the Dark Lord’s explanation. “You will be staying there for some time. Perhaps the next six months. I want you to observe Talion and make note of anything suspicious. He will have to let you do so. You must also observe his people. If they seem tense and on edge, I must hear about it  _ immediately.  _ Understood?” 

“Yes, my lord!” the assassins chorused. 

“Good. Go and prepare for departure. Dismissed.” They bowed in sync, turned sharply, and left. In Mordor, precision was required for even the simplest of things. Precision made everything run smoothly. 

The Dark Lord would tolerate nothing less. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: Ræn is pronounced 'ran', and Fauthagon is from Gundabad, which really is very far away from Mordor. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and please leave a comment! They help me improve and give me motivation.


	3. Bloodied Betrayal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gandalf arrives at Isengard. Meanwhile in Mordor, the politics are starting to lead to death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING!!! This chapter contains extremely graphic violence and some seriously messed up insinuations. If any of this bothers you, please just stop reading after the Uruk-hai have their conversation.

There was, Gandalf mused idly, some sort of power in simply living. The Hobbits were an excellent example of this. He was fond of them and was at the same time confused by them. They had no interest in the outside world save to shake their heads and sigh. 

He thought that perhaps a Hobbit, when given the Ring, might wish for nothing more than a garden, a nice place to live, and a delicious meal, and perhaps that was the greatest thing about them. Other races, even the Elves, could not say that they could resist in such a way. Well. Maybe Fëanor, in all his arrogance, might be able to resist the Ring based on the sheer fact that his ego was too  _ large  _ for it to corrupt him. 

Either way, it was a laughable idea that any other race could resist the pull of the Ring. Perhaps, then, a Hobbit might be able to destroy it. 

Isengard loomed above him and he sighed, shaking away such thoughts for later. He had questions to ask. 

“Gandalf! What is it you need?” Saruman asked, one eyebrow raised. Gandalf saw, out of the corner of his eye, a flurry of movement and several dark objects vanishing. He frowned.  _ Odd.  _

“I come seeking your counsel. Sauron’s Ring has been found, and--” 

“We should not talk about  _ that  _ in the open.” Saruman was suddenly cold as he ushered Gandalf into Orthanc. “It is too important.” 

“Ah--of course. It was in the possession of a Hobbit, of all people, and he gave it up to his heir.” 

“Naturally. Anything else?” 

“The Nine have come forth once more. So Radagast said, at least.” 

“Radagast? Radagast is a fool. But he has played his part, and well; here you are! And here you shall stay! For I Saruman the Wise, Saruman Ring-maker, Saruman of Many Colors have said so!” His robes suddenly flared with light, and Gandalf saw with horror that they shimmered with a multitude of colors in what could only be a crude imitation of Morgoth’s iridescent skin. 

_ He is playing with forces far beyond him,  _ the Gray Wizard realized.    
  


“I liked white better,” he said absently, half in shock. 

“White! White is merely a base. The white page may be overwritten, the white fabric dyed!” 

“Then it is no longer white.” 

“You need not speak to me as if I am one of your foolish little friends! I have brought you here to give you a choice, not to take your  _ wisdom.”  _ He sneered. “There is power to be had on the side I have joined! Power, indeed, and we have but to take it! We shall rule the world of Men.” 

“That is Sauron’s power, which he does not give idly. Think of the Nine! They are Wraiths because they accepted his power.” 

“They were men, and foolish men at that. We--and I say we for it can be that--must guide them!” Saruman snapped. 

“You mean Sauron will rule us, and we are to be his puppets as he strips the world of freedom?” Gandalf drew himself up furiously. “You are no Umaia, Curumo, though you fancy yourself one! The Umaiar are far stronger than you, and far wiser in the ways of evil. You are but a child compared to them.” 

“You are a fool, should you attempt to resist this wise way of thinking!” Saruman snarled. “Take him to the pinnacle!” 

Two Orcs slipped into the room and seized Gandalf by the arms. They bore him struggling up to the pinnacle of Orthanc, from which there was no escape. 

When they dropped him, instead of leaving, one pointed to the opposite corner. “Don’t get any funny ideas. That one can’t escape; his wings’ve been clipped.” They nodded at the man--no, Gandalf realized with a sick jolt,  _ Umaia-- _ chained to one of the four pillars of the pinnacle. 

As soon as they left, Gandalf leaned closer to him. “Are you alright?” 

“The fuck kind of question is that? Of course not!” the Umaia hissed back. “Of course not!” 

“Have you a name?” 

“Hrávo. I know yours--don’t they call you Gandalf here?” 

“Yes, they do.” 

“I like Olorin better.” 

* * *

Gondurzbazg whipped off her mask and eyed Gledsdrôt with an urgent air about her. “This is bigger than we thought,” she hissed. 

“Pray to the gods Mul’s not involved,” he snorted, rolling his eyes. 

“Probably dead. I know my brother. He’s an idiot.” 

“Please. He’s almost as stupidly good at telling people they’re being stupid as Bâlhûn.”

“Don’t remind me. That bastard beat the shit out of me for pullin’ a stitch once.” 

“Serves you right. I’d swear Bâlhûn was Mul’s whelp if I didn’t know he’s my age.” 

“Ha! One’s enough. Miss ‘im.” 

“Me too.” 

* * *

Talion shifted his weight from foot to foot, eager to move after so long listening to the Marad family’s whining.

“As if my daughter would do such a thing! You understand, don’t you?” Abrazimir said. He gave Talion a knowing look. 

“I can’t say I have ever experienced being such a bitch to my child, no,” Talion replied, smirking despite himself. 

“I suppose you would say that.” 

“What precisely do you mean?” 

“Well, I mean you gave up being a Ranger of Gondor to--what exactly? Lay about with Orcs and demons?” The nobleman chuckled. “As if that’s gotten you anywhere besides on your--” 

Talion’s dagger was at his throat within a second. “You  _ dare,”  _ he snarled, teeth bared viciously, “talk to me like that  _ one more time  _ and I will not hesitate to kill you.” 

Abrazimir only smirked. “Savage. Anywhere else and this would be a cause for--” 

He was cut off by Talion hitting him over the head with the hilt of his knife. The noble fell with a soft groan. 

“This is Mordor, so I'll get away with this just fine,” Talion hissed. He gave Abrazimir one last spiteful kick to the side and stalked off.

He was so focused on his rage he didn’t hear Ræn let out a low, impressed whistle.

She grinned. “Damn. Is he really--you know--with an Orc?” 

“Yeah. Everyone knows that,” Fauth replied, rolling her eyes. Then she grinned at Ræn with a wicked glint in her eyes. “Back to work?” 

“Absolutely. This is gettin’ interesting…” 

* * *

Sauron was not unused to blood. Murder was dirty business, but he’d do it if he had to. In fact, dignitaries were sometimes more useful dead than alive--death made for excellent propaganda. 

This particular one had been a thorn in his side for twenty years. A disgusting fool with an unquenchable appetite for gluttony and strong political ties to the Marad family. His Starkoku had sent word that one of that house had received quite the humiliation at Talion’s hands--their current lord, in fact.

Disgust curled his lip at the thought of that stupid family and their allies. The Mandat family, for instance, obsessed over the goods from Marad, addicting themselves to these exports and gorging on them. This had begun resulting in weaknesses that were easily exploited while their peasants starved and scraped desperately for anything at all. 

They would have to be purged, and this was only the beginning. He sneered down at the corpse of the dignitary. Fast-acting poison laced into a drink--Yóriel’s finest, of course. Nothing less for this fool. 

Sauron spat on the ground and began the process of removing the body.  _ If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.  _

He removed the gaudy jewelry first; that would be an excellent gift for his falcon, Snakskoir. The bird loved decorating his nest with shiny things, once even stealing a crown right off of someone’s head. Besides, he deserved a reward of some sort. 

Then, he took out a knife and carved open the nobleman’s chest, ripping the heart out. This was self-indulgence; human hearts were a delicacy amongst Umaiar. He took a bite out of it, still-warm blood dripping down his chin as his fangs shredded the flesh. Sauron licked his lips, savoring the coppery tang of the humans. 

He threw his head back and groaned. It had been far too long since he’d done this.  _ I’ve got dinner,  _ he sent through his mental connection to Yóriel. 

_ What is it?  _

_ Human. Plenty of meat on the bones. I took the heart.  _

_ It  _ was _ your kill. Of course you did. I’ll be right there--keep the blood warm for me.  _

Sauron purred, the deep rumble sending a chill down the spine of whoever heard it.  _ And that’s why we’re married,  _ he thought with a smirk. 

There wouldn’t even be a body to bury after this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I really did that to you. MWAHAHA! Anyway. I hope you enjoyed that! As always, please leave some feedback; I'm having a very bad day and would like some serotonin! If you have any questions or want me to fix something you can leave that in a comment! If you want something explained in detail, please message me or leave me an ask (anon is on!) @councilofelrond!


	4. Insults And Departures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Maradu continue to be annoying. Heading in the opposite direction of their original journey, six people leave on a rescue mission. Ruxahild decides something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter contains derogatory language, mentions of wanting to harm someone else (namely, someone discusses wanting to eat an Elf), and Saruman. Stay safe!

Leaving for Isengard was an…arduous process. For one thing, Grandmama insisted on fussing over everyone--according to her, Talion was practically wasting away (he wasn’t), and Pelinelon may as well build himself a funeral pyre (he didn’t need to at all). 

For another, there was the stupid Marad family to deal with. They had been up in arms about the incident during which Lord Abrazimir had been insulted, claiming it proved true the rumors about Talion;  _ makatok,  _ they called him behind closed doors. 

They’d even sent an ambassador, who had promptly been kicked out (quite literally, courtesy of a very pissed off Ratbag). He tried to get back inside, shouting the whole time, only for Talion’s fist to meet him in the face. Finally, a day later, staggering off and nursing multiple injuries, he left.

Those preparing to depart were thankful they didn’t have to put up with this for much longer. Angainë said, quite seriously, that if she saw one more ‘bubble-headed southern arse’, she’d eat them. No one even pretended to be surprised. 

Departure became far more hasty after that, though Grandmama became very irritated with the idea of being cooped up with Talion and Ratbag, both of whom had… _ personalities.  _

“If those two get up to anymore,” here she eyed them both,  _ “funny business,  _ I’m moving to the main city.” 

“Oh, please don’t!” Ruby begged, eyes wide. “No one else here can cook!” 

“You can,” Mul pointed out.

“I’m not cooking for all of you! Besides, I’m leaving too!” 

Talion huffed. “I can cook.” 

“Talion, love, you mean the world to me, but the last time you tried to cook something you set  _ water _ on fire,” Ratbag said. Talion glared at him without much heat.

“It was  _ one time!”  _

“One time too many.” Grandmama looked ready to scream. 

“Please tell me I won’t be left alone with these idiots!” 

“Of course not!” Ethelred said. “You’ll have Ruxahild staying with you as well!” The old woman’s face turned to horror. 

“But Da!” Ruxahild protested, “I wanna come with you and Ma!” 

“You’re too young for battle yet.” Angainë knelt and touched her forehead to her daughter’s. “I wasn’t allowed when I was your age.” 

“You said--” 

“I’d never fought. You don’t until you’re of age.” Ruxahild pouted, then sighed.

“Fine. But you better tell me everything when you get back!” 

“We will,” her mother promised. “Everything.” 

* * *

It was midnight. By now, most people in Seregost had gotten to bed--too cold to work after sundown. 

Talion’s eyes flashed open. “Fuck.” 

“What is it?” Ratbag mumbled. 

“We’ll be left in charge of Ruxahild.” 

“…fuckin’ Void.” 

* * *

Caragors were much better than horses. At least, that was Ruby’s humble opinion on them. She had named hers Daisy, which now the caragor responded to. They were rather like giant cats, actually; they loved affection, purred, and would rub your face and hands. Even better, they came in a wide range of sizes, making it comfortable for her to ride them. 

Each of them had names ranging from adorable to downright bizarre. For example, Berenil had named hers Tufrin, which was apparently an Elvish slang term for fluffy. Talion had named his Arrow, for reasons which quickly became obvious--that thing was  _ fast.  _ Meanwhile, Mul had opted for Ambal, which meant sweet. 

When time came to leave (after everything had been squared away, of course), she was practically buzzing with excitement. 

_ Finally! Adventure!  _ The others were just as excited. Even the Elf siblings exchanged excited glances, and Mul and Berenil had put aside all arguments. 

They left in a hurry, the caragors moving just as fast as any horse. By the end of the day, excitement had waned to desperate gratitude for warm cloaks and scarves.

* * *

“There is death, and then there is  _ death,”  _ Saruman mused, one finger tapping his chin. “This undead…thing is interesting and possibly useful. However!” He lifted a hand to prevent Wormtongue from speaking. “However. There is the matter of the territory he holds, and the sway he has in Mordor--though the Marad family may be persuaded to join our side in this.” 

“And why is that?” Wormtongue asked. 

“They make no secret of their hatred for him.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“They call him foul things, things I would never repeat. The Dark Lord, it seems, takes great pleasure in swearing, and so I learn these things.” Wormtongue flinched when the wizard’s gaze fell upon him. 

“He will be here soon, interestingly,” Saruman continued. “He is not expecting what I have planned for him. Imagine--endless samples! The sheer amount of research to be done!” 

He sighed, eyes suddenly, strangely, wistful. “So unfortunate; a terrible accident has happened to the poor man and he was unable to be rescued.” Saruman’s face contorted into a hideous grin and he laughed madly. 

“At least he is with his true family now!” 

Wormtongue gulped. “Ah, hem,  _ now?  _ We don’t have him yet…” 

“No, no, no. Idiot!” Saruman smacked his servant upside the head. “That is what I shall tell his people, most notably his husband.” 

“Of course, of course.” Wormtongue offered up a supportive sneer at the plan.  _ I am certainly glad I have joined him! These fools shall all crumble…  _

* * *

Dawn came far too soon, and, with a hideous shock, Talion was dragged out of sleep by a child shrieking, “WAKE UP!” 

“What the fu--” 

“It’s morning!” 

“Oh. Right…” Talion sat up, rubbing a hand into his eyes to keep himself from falling back asleep. The little girl had already raced off, likely to wake Grandmama. “Ratbag, we’ve got to get up…” 

“Not yet.” 

“Ruxahild’s up already.” 

“She’s an Umaia. They’re up the minute the sun gives the slightest hint of existing in the sky.” 

“Mm.” Talion leaned back and brushed his hair out of his face with a groan of exhaustion. “We should get dressed before she comes back, at least.” 

“Fine, fine, fine.” 

Getting dressed in Seregost was an affair, to be quite frank. Between the four layers of tunics and the bracers and the jewelry, it took around twenty minutes to get ready--and that was only on warmer days. 

“Void,” Ratbag said appreciatively, “I keep forgetting how nice you look with those earrings in.” 

Talion grinned. “I do too.” He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment, one eyebrow raised. “As long as I’m not freezing to death--oh, damn, here she comes.” 

The Umaia girl, now with an exasperated Grandmama in tow, exploded into the room.    
  


“Can we eat now?” 

Talion and Ratbag exchanged a glance. “We have work to do,” Talion said, deciding to spare Ratbag the torture of dealing with an exuberant child, which wasn’t something he had any sort of experience with. “You two go on.” 

“Oh, enough of that! Your work can wait--hasn't he--” and here Grandmama jerked a thumb at Ratbag, “told you to take care of yourself enough? You must eat something!” 

“Yes, but every time he says that I wind up getting something out of it.” 

“Just eat, Talion,” Ratbag huffed. “It’ll be faster than arguing.” 

“Fine, fine,  _ fine.”  _ Talion rolled his eyes. Ruxahild watched him in fascination--blue eyes were exceedingly rare amongst Umaiar. In fact, she’d never seen anyone who had them. 

“Your eyes are pretty,” she informed him. “I wish I had eyes like that. Mine are plain old grey.” 

“Grey eyes are much nicer than you think. And anyway, my eyes are only like this because I was possessed by an evil Elf wraith.” 

“Elves are gross!” 

“Most Elves, yes. Not all.” 

“I guess. Berenil and Pelinelon aren’t so bad. I’d like to kill an Elf one day,” Ruxahild said thoughtfully. “Bet they taste nice.” 

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Stop filling this poor girl’s head with nonsense and come help me in the kitchen--and no funny business!” 

Unfortunately, funny business was one of Talion’s specialties, and he was forcibly removed after he somehow managed to drop from the ceiling and steal a plate of blueberry tarts. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Makatok - Orcish, literally 'whore'. 
> 
> Yes, Umaiar eat Elves. I figured it made sense. Also, in case you didn't know, the 'evil Elf wraith' is Celebrimbor, and this is actually canon to the video games. Before Talion's death, the cutscenes show him with brown eyes. 
> 
> As always, please leave a comment! Constructive criticism is especially useful, but all comments give me motivation to write (just be polite, please)!


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